Christmas: this quintessence of dust

Readings: John 1:1-14
Sermon by the Revd Dr Brutus Green

 …I have of late — but wherefore I know not —
lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise;
and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition
that this goodly frame, the earth,
seems to me a sterile promontory,
this most excellent canopy, the air, look you,
this brave o'erhanging firmament,
this majestical roof fretted with golden fire,
why, it appears no other thing to me
than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
What a piece of work is a man!
how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty!
in form and moving how express and admirable!
in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god!
the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
man delights not me: no, nor woman neither…

Lines from that almost perfect work of art – Withnail and I (and also Hamlet).

No other words so perfectly capture the two natures of man. The only work that possibly comes close is the Pogues’ Fairytale of New York. That magisterial work really fuses two songs together, a slow one and a dance-y one, and the words move from Christmas hope of ‘a better time/ when all our dreams come true’ to the realities of drug abuse and alcoholism; Christmas night spent in the ‘drunk tank’; majestically brought together with the nostalgia of the ‘boys of the NYPD choir’ which I’m reliably told don’t, and have never, existed.

But Christmas is all about these two natures: noble in reason, infinite in faculty and yet a quintessence of dust. The contradiction of living ‘A little lower than the angels’ our ‘nasty, brutish and short’ lives. In this I’m reminded of Rowan Williams’ assessment of Richard Dawkins, the scientist, as ‘a man who has devoted huge amounts of energy and tremendous intellectual sophistication into proving that there is no structure or meaning to the process which he so elegantly, intelligently and brilliantly outlines’. Personally, I’ve always thought Hobbes description of ‘nasty, brutish and short’ applies quite well to Dawkins, but that’s probably unfair. He is actually 1cm taller than me.

But at Christmas we have this most basic picture of humanity - amid all the mud and oomska - animals among the animals, birth in a stable, literally mired in poverty. And yet Christmas appeals to the better nature of our humanity. That there is something in us worth saving, that there is something human that might endure - perhaps eternally. And what the Christian faith declares uniquely is that this flesh can of itself contain all the mystery and meaning of the universe. For better and for worse. The Word, uncreated, the divine eternal meaning that lies behind the heavens and earth, may be invested in this form of life, the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals.

But really? I hear you say. It all sounds very romantic and self-aggrandising. Are we not dressing up mutton as lamb. Is it like that favourite Christmas song: “I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause” On the face of it a charming little song to sing in the parlour or next to the piano. And yet what the protagonist of the song clearly doesn’t realise is that behind this kissing and tickling of Santa Claus is a torrid affair, ready to break apart her respectable middle-class childhood. “Oh what a laugh it would have been if Daddy had only seen” Hardly.

Well, I suppose it comes down to something you can’t really argue. There are those, the Bertrand Russells (a notorious womaniser), the Richard Dawkins (sometime academic in the second best university in England), who would say the universe holds no greater transcendence than our nasty, brutish short lives invent. The universe is just there. ‘Red in tooth and claw.’ Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
Thou madest Life in man and brute;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast made. As Samuel Johnson said: “I hate mankind, for I think myself one of the best of them, and I know how bad I am.” We are a quintessence of dust and to dust we shall return.

Then there is the Christian vision of a created universe. That what shapes the universe and the character of humanity is an act of love. That from Christmas to Easter, the life of Christ reveals this hidden nature of creation, That what is sometimes sensed in beauty, truth and acts of kindness, is revealed in the life of Christ as the ultimate meaning of the universe: That we are not simply dust, but capable of so much more, in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! And that in so far as we have loved, we will endure.

It’s very difficult to argue between these views. They stand on different foundations. If you were French you would probably bet on the latter just in case it was true.

It’s a bit like if I were trying to convince someone to marry me who didn’t believe in marriage. You might be able to convince them on the grounds of utility. It makes life a bit more secure if you’re married, you get a bit of a tax break, you get presents - But if you want to get married it’s probably for something more than that; because marriage has a greater symbolic significance; because it adds spiritual weight to your relationship; because the vows speak of something enduring, eternal even; a little bit magical – like Christmas night – We can be realists about the reality of relationships, even after the wedding, without discarding the spiritual meaning of marriage and remaining true to it as best we’re able.

And not kissing – or tickling (for goodness sake)– Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe.

But despite the fact that 95% of the time we probably think of ourselves as hard-headed rational people; And for all that sometimes our heads take us to a place where the world is cold and scientific, where decisions are made based simply on utility; we are deeply sentimental. And this sentimentality is itself lodged in some deep-seated views about human nature: the worth of the individual, of freedom, of compassion, fairness, and love; of the hope for a better world. I think it’s actually especially true of British people that they suffer this double think. Their heads see the world with a cool rationalism and this is generally where they begin from. But their hearts make judgements based on an entirely different register. Especially when it comes to love, to children, to grief and to Richard Curtis movies.

The more we look at this register – which puts love above pragmatism, which gives meaning and purpose to every life, which believes – despite appearances – that what we are and do really matter - we realise it is a theological register. Because without the promise of eternity, without judgement, without redemption, what does any of it really matter?

So Christmas isn’t just about the two natures of humanity, her basic quintessence of dust and her strivings for a better time. It’s also about our striving for what is eternal, what lasts beyond our short three score years and ten. In this, Christmas is remembered at every Eucharist. The prayer the priest makes over the wine is derived from a seventh century collect for Christmas:

By the mystery of this water and wine may we come to share in the divinity of Christ who humbled himself to share in our humanity.  

Which is to say that at Christmas we remember what is hidden within ourselves and within what often seems a cold world. The belief that we, that the world can be better. Can find peace.

And perhaps we, in our quintessence of dust, can remember to delight in one another, and sometimes, at least at Christmas, because at Christmas you tell the truth – Remember the side of our nature closest to the angels – And find eternity in this quintessence of dust. Amen.